Dear Friend,
by SSA James
Summary: "It's been almost 25 years since I last wrote to you." Charlie tells what has happened in his life since he last wrote to "Friend". These are entirely my head canons for Perks.


**This story is made up entirely of my head canons for Perks. I just thought I'd share. **

_June 18__th__, 2016_

Dear Friend,

It's been almost 25 years since I last wrote to you. I felt like the story I had started telling you wasn't finished, and really, it wasn't.

I just want to tell you that I am fine. I am happy. I'm no longer happy, and sad. I am happy.

I graduated high school early, and went to Penn state, with Sam. The happiest day of my life was when Sam agreed to marry me the day I finished college. Not far behind are the days my three children were born, and the day I got the letter that my first book. You might have heard of it, it was a best seller. I won't tell you the name; I still don't want you to know who I am. Sam and I own a music store. Our kids, all named after The Smiths, spend most of their time outside of school there. They all love music, which I know makes Sam very happy.

Patrick met someone in Washington, a very nice musician. They got married in Seattle in 2012. They have two wonderful kids and live about twenty minutes from Sam and I. Patrick is a counselor; he says I inspired him to be one. I'm glad I did. Patrick and his husband are very good parents, though very over protective of their daughter. I guess you'd have to be when you did the things Patrick did in high school.

Mary Elizabeth traveled the world after college. She lives in England now, with some man she met in Italy. She says marriage is the legal form of slavery.

Alice is in movies now. You've definitely heard of her.

Bill is in New York, writing plays. We send letters.

My sister is now married, to a quiet man from California. She only has one child. A son, named after me. Isn't that nice of her?

My brother is a football coach back in our hometown. He's happy, which is all that matters.

Brad died in 1992. He killed himself before even going to college. If you ask his dad, he'd say it was good. When Sam, Patrick, and I go back home, we make sure to stop by his grave.

I should really go. My oldest son is graduating today. He wants to be a musician, like his uncle. He's really good at it, too. Sam and I are very proud. My other son and daughter aren't going to be too far behind. How fast time goes.

I'll finish now. I'm very glad I wrote to you. And I'll end on this:

I most definitely participated.

Love always,

Charlie

"Freddie?" Nat called from downstairs, "Come on, Freddie, Rourke is waiting."

Freddie stepped away from his old typewriter. His daughter always told him to get a computer, but he never listened. The typewriter, the same one Nat had gotten him all those years ago on Christmas, just felt right.

"Coming," Freddie said, folding his letter, placing it in the envelope, and heading down the stairs.

Even at 43, Freddie could say that Nat looked just as beautiful as the night when he, Kevin, and she went to get burgers after the first football game.

"Looking sharp, Daddy," Joyce said. Freddie's daughter looked just like her mother.

"I agree, Daddy," Kevin said, a smirk on his face, "I told you, all great writers wear suits."

Nat rolled her eyes, "He's not a great writer because you got him a suit, Kev."

"I resent that, Natalie," Kevin said. Nat nudged her step-brother.

"Come on, Freddie, Gannon and Rourke already left with your parents," Nat held out her hand for her husband to take as they all walked outside.

"Joyce is riding with me," Kevin said, getting into his car with Joyce behind him, "I called her, she's mine."

"Don't you dare make any detours, Kevin," Nat said sternly, "You will not be late to my son's graduation."

"Yes, yes, Nat, I understand," Kevin said, waving her off as he back out of the driveway, turning his speakers on full blast.

"He's going to be late," Nat sighed, getting in the car.

"He's going to be late," Freddie repeated with a slight smile.

"What's that?" Nat said pointing to Freddie's lap, at the letter.

"A letter," Freddie said, backing out of their driveway.

"I see that," Nat laughing, "A letter to Bill?"

"No, a letter to Nicholas Shaw."

"Nicholas Shaw? That guy that rejected your sister in like sophomore year?" Nat asked, "When's the last time you wrote him?"

"The summer after my freshman year."

"Why are you writing him now?"

"I felt like I needed to tell him the ending," Freddie said, grabbing his wife's hand.

"You are so a writer."

**Note: I changed their names at the end because, like Charlie had said in his letters, those weren't their real names. **

**Review if you'd like. **


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